Visions of Things to Come: Shishio Makoto
by the sacred night
Summary: A small boy waches a storm wreak havoc upon the lives of those around him, and a seed is planted.


Visions of Things to Come: Shishio Makoto 

The thick, roiling blanket of gray had descended on the estate early in the evening. The summer heat that had caused them so much misery in the past weeks had dissipated in minutes. It was nearly black by the time the first raindrops had appeared, cool bursts of relief on a small boy's face. He had shivered a little with anticipation then, knowing that the sky promised a great deal more. He had run out to the field near the stables, because there was a tree there that was absolutely perfect for this. He had climbed it numberless times, it being one of the few his childish limbs could surmount. It had a comfortable perch high up, where he could see for what seemed like forever to his naïve mind.

Tiny arms and legs had been weather beaten by the rustling of his small kimono and hakama, whipping in the wind against his body, getting soaked by the rapidly intensifying rain, but he hadn't paid any attention. His eyes had been slits, focused intently on the tree that would be his vantage point when the storm came. He had climbed up, not feeling the little knives of cold that bit through the fabric and his skin in such a contrast to the weather of mere hours ago. He had settled himself on the branch where he now sat, arms coiled around a branch for security, eyes glued to the sky.

The first bolt of lightning gave him chills; it lit up the estate so it almost looked like daytime for a fraction of a second. It threw everything into sharp relief, black and white, no shades in between to dull the contrast. The tree he held to for dear life was swaying in the same enigmatic, erratic dance as all of the others he could see, but he held firmly to it, knuckles white and aching but unnoticed. Another bright arc of light and heat tore the sky, and the child in the tree practically purred. He waited for the thunder, sending vibrations up the tree and right into his body. He could feel the deep booming in his chest, rumbling with the sheer power of the Earth.

It was that power that mesmerized him. The storm threw the tops of trees around as if they were straw, and drove all the people of the estate indoors. All of the people except him, that was. He alone could defy the storm, could cling to the tree where he sat enthralled, exulting in the raw energy displayed around him. No one else was brave like him. Everyone else was afraid, but the boy with lengthening black hair that could almost reach into a topknot and the strange, otherworldly red eyes was not. He was only fascinated. He was only… jealous.

That kind of power was something humans could only dream about, as that small boy was doing just then. Nature was so much more powerful than any of them were. Even the strongest samurai couldn't split trees in two from top to bottom the way lightning did, and couldn't rattle entire towns like this. The boy drank in what he saw, what he craved. It was… it was energy, it was power, it was life. It was everything.

A silent flash of arcing light struck so close that the deafening crack and rumble came almost immediately, while the sky was still lit up. If it were that close, it had to be on this very estate… he ran toward it, hoping to catch a glimpse of what it had created, the pure havoc of destruction wrought by the storm's intensity, before the rain washed it all out to nothing but ash…

He ran across the field knowing he could be struck at any moment by another bolt, but relishing the danger, and unable to help thinking that it would be an excellent way to die, even if he hoped it wouldn't be today, to be taken into that unstoppable force, to become part of it, feed its capacity for even more terrifying feats. He reached the other side of the field unscathed, and felt the smallest swell of pride as if he had defeated the storm by doing so, but knew he had done no such thing. The storm was not in the least lessened or defeated; it could never be defeated.

The lightning had struck a house on the other side of the estate from where he lived. Some servants were probably inside, burnt to a crisp. There was no saving them now. The storm had claimed them as its due. They were part of the storm now. The blackened heap that had been their house was cleaved in half just like everything the lightning touched, flames licking at its foundation. Those flames were unquenched by the torrents of rain that still buffeted what was left of the walls and roof, as the oiled paper curled and burned away into nothing, feeding the flames even as they destroyed it. The slowly falling paper seemed to bow down to the flames, knowing they brought its demise. The beams that fell into the fire worshipped it like a god, and it repaid them with death.

The young boy stared, barely able to restrain himself from walking straight into the husk of a house and the fire that consumed it. He held back, but devoured the scene hungrily, memorizing it and tucking it away in his mind. He would remember this, and even long after he had ceased remembering, its reverberations would be felt.

"Makoto, come inside!" He was roughly commanded as a strong, hand with long nails that dug into his flesh drug him away from the burning house. His mother berated him for coming out during the storm, but he didn't hear her. He wouldn't run away in fear like all the other weaklings, only to be struck down in his very house like those servants. He would defy. He would defy everything, because he was strong enough to, and he would survive. Because he was strong.


End file.
